


BDSM-AU Johnlock RP

by Johnlock13



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM-AU, Dom!Sherlock, Dubious Consent, M/M, Sub!John, dark!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 19:16:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1277791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnlock13/pseuds/Johnlock13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a BDSM-AU that was originally prompted via omegle. My co-author is amazing (bakerstirregular)! The prompt depicts John hiding the fact that he is a born submissive, and Sherlock finding out the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Confirmation

**Author's Note:**

> Each paragraph is an individual post. The prompt is in sub!John's POV. I look forward to any feedback! Remember, this was written purely for RP sake. I do not own any of the character's mentioned.

John was a natural born submissive. Something he hid from the whole world, even his best friend. But lately John had been slipping up, he had overwhelming urges when it came to Sherlock. Sherlock oozed dominance in his every step. John fetched himself a tea from the kitchen and sat down, grabbing his laptop. He opened his blog and began typing. It felt good to be able to express himself. Of course John blogged his personal desires on a private blog, letting no one know his true identity.

Sherlock quickly finished the conversation he'd been having text with a decided expert in the matters of submissives in denial and pocketed his phone. Making up his mind, he exited the room making as little noise as possible but adopting the air of one absolutely in control as he moved silently behind where John sat.

John typed quickly, letting his feelings flow. He expressed his obsession with the other man. His eyes, his hair, and overall his domineering stance. His gaze was enough to send anyone tumbling to their knees. But yet he had never seen Sherlock with a sub. Johns breath hitched as he saw a shadow form to his side. He quickly shut his laptop and turned around, looking in to the same gaze he had just finished describing. He shuddered. Composing himself quickly.

Sherlock smirked slightly to himself, bending over to catch a quick glimpse of what John was writing. The few word he'd caught served to confirm his initial theory, but more evidence for his conclusion was superfluous after living with John all this time. He righted himself and set in motion the planned phases he intended to better help John admit the truth about himself. He anticipated a struggle, as John clearly intended to hide it from the world, seeking positions of authority to conceal it. "John," he said, intending to startle him.

John hesitated as he met the detective's gaze. Placing his hand on his "bad" leg instinctively, he spoke, trying to sound indifferent. "Sherlock." He nodded, as casually as he could. His mind was flying a mile per minute, panic began to set. Maybe he didn't suspect anything. John even had a hard time believing that.. He knew something was up.. John just didn't know how much he knew..

Sherlock allowed his expression to form into the smug look he wore often when he'd solved a case. He breezed past John and seated himself in his usual chair, opposite John. Steepling his fingers, he stared at John for a brief interval--again, all calculate to unsettle him-- and then, as if suddenly thinking of something else, he looked to the side and said simply "Tea, John."

John watched as the detective took his place across from him. As the detective stared at him, John could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. Silently he prayed that the silence be broken. And when Sherlock spoke, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Tea, right." He stood and headed to the kitchen in one swift motion, trying so hard not to look back at the detective.

Sherlock watched as John bustled in the kitchen, still terribly pleased with himself. The consulting detective had been consulting himself, with Irene, who'd quickly pegged John for exactly what he was and what's more, for the desire he felt to be dominated by one person in particular. Though anyone could have seen that, Sherlock thought, how best to bring out that side of John and encourage the admission of his submission was an another matter entirely. John had very naturally fallen into the role alongside Sherlock without either of them having to say anything, the way he'd defended Sherlock, stood by him through all danger, and in the minor ways he jumped and responded without question to commands like 'Tea, John.' All that remained now was for him to surrender himself entirely and knowingly. Sherlock awaited his return with the tea to begin.

John finished making tea, taking his time so that he may clear his mind, and calm his nerves. He was seriously beginning to think that Sherlock had seen his blog. The way he studied John as if he were a case. "Noo", he thought to himself. He was being silly. Sherlock always wore that expression.. Right? He must be psyching himself out. John returned with the tea, placing Sherlock's on the table beside him before taking his seat across from the detective. "So.." He spoke almost too casually. "Any new cases?"

"Only one. An interesting one at that." Sherlock said, sipping his tea without taking his eyes off of John. He was nervous, that much was obvious. Sherlock could practically hear the thoughts churning in his mind as John surely unsuccessfully convinced himself that Sherlock had not caught on to what he'd so carefully been trying to hide. How best it to bring it up then? To take sudden action might cause a retreat and limit further opportunities to broach the subject with John. He opted for a blunt approach, an approach that came naturally to him and one that would enable him to watch John figuratively (and perhaps even literally squirm), "When did you first realize you needed a dominant, then, John?" He said casually sipping his tea and then staring into his teacup, anticipating John's reaction.

John tried not to spit out the tea he was currently trying to drink as Sherlock asked his question. Yup, he'd been figured out. He began to wonder how long Sherlock actually knew. John picked a spot on the floor and stared intently as he spoke. Not wanting to see the detective's expression. "Wha... Sherlock.. You must be confused. I.. I don't need a dominant.." John shifted in his seat. His arousal would no doubt become obvious if the discussion was not soon changed. So this was it? The case? John was Sherlock's new case? John tried not to look too nervous as he scanned through the possible outcomes of this discussion.

"Don't be -willfully- obtuse, John, it's bad enough as it is." Sherlock said leaning forward slightly in his seat and never once taking the piercing gaze he'd fixed John with off of him. "Come now, you now how liars and secret keepers normally fare against me, what's the point of resisting it? Of course..." He cast his gaze to the floor, and continued to discuss it as casually as he might have discussed the weather, "It may just be force of habit at this point, -resisting- it is all you've ever done." 

John shook as every word was said. Sherlock was right, as always. He had done nothing but resist and deny his true identity all his life. Masking it in many ways, all effective until now. He should have known that sooner or later Sherlock would catch on. John could feel the detective staring, even though John would not look up. John was starting to see where this was going... "Sherlock.. I told you.. I don't need a dominant!" John immediately regretted raising his voice. Slumping back down in his seat he sipped at his tea, trying to calm his nerves. He wouldn't let Sherlock break him. Even though he found the idea of it quite arousing.

Sherlock let a low chuckle rumble from his throat, "And yet you so easily fall into using the terminology." He slowly stood up and began pacing softly behind John as he did when he was working on a case, but much more deliberately, being that he'd already worked out the solution to this rather obvious of cases. "You're a doctor, an officer. Both positions of power and societal prestige. Positions where -you- gave the orders and others followed. A weak effort at hiding your true proclivities and to the untrained majority, a successful facade. However.." He stopped just behind John's chair, arms drawn behind his back, "A careful observer might see how even those positions are part of very hierarchical systems, hierarchies where you chose to linger on the bottom. One might attribute your choice of specialty to your desire for working with patients, and it would be true, but of all the specialties, general practice is one of the least lucrative and most humble, frequently subordinate to other specialists. And a war hero who only rises to the rank of Captain, and not as high as you might have if you'd more aggressively pursued power. But, that's to be expected of course.." He'd been using what he calculated to be his silkiest tone of voice, and then allowed his voice to fall even deeper and softer, "You've been relentless seeking something entirely opposed to power, haven't you, John?" He straightened himself and moved back to his chair to face John again, "Even one look at the way you dance pitifully up and down around the men and women you find powerful is....telling, don't you think?" 

John strained to remain composed as she detective circled him. John felt as if his whole life had been picked apart and placed in front of him in mere seconds. Sherlock had been thinking about this for longer than John knew. He'd been observing. John shifted at the thought of Sherlock watching his every move, with calculated precision. John reminded himself not to raise his voice. The detective awaited his answer and John could feel his eyes, taking him apart. It was almost too much. Should he just give up? Admit that he'd been watching, dreaming, and constantly thinking about Sherlock. The things he could do to ... John dismissed these thoughts as the heat of his arousal began to flare. He tried to distract himself, his body would not betray him today. Nope. "I.. Uhm.. Well if that's what you think." He tried to dismiss the detectives assumption with a slight wave.

"You say that as if things that were 'just what I thought' were usually the baseless suppositions that tend to occur to other people." He smiled smugly again before pressing on. "Have you ever had one before?" He took to stirring his tea so as to allow John to believe that his eyes were no longer on him. Instead, he casually shot a look towards him as he stirred before returning to watching the small whirlpool in his teacup. Really, John should have known better than to attempt to play it off casually. John's light-colored eyes easily showed the change in pupil diameter that so uncontrollably signaled arousal or alarm, likely a combination of both at this point, Sherlock would have bet had he been the betting sort. "When did it start? My guess would be with you sister...." 

John stirred in his seat. "If you must know.. And if it would help to end this discussion, no, I have never had a dominant. I hardly see how this is of importance." John knew he was lying to himself, as convincing as he tried to sound. "And my sister .. No.. My sister has nothing to do with this. It is a personal choice I have made. I do not need a dominant!" He raised his voice ever so slightly. Damn-it John stop lying to yourself! If this was a game.. All to get him to spill his secret.. It wouldn't work. John put too much effort in to hiding his identity, what he was born to do, to be. He glanced up just in time to see Sherlock looking down at his tea. John took this time to look at the man questioning him. The curls, his eyes, his stature.. If Sherlock wanted to he would be the only one John may not be able to fight. He had a twisted fear of this man, that mixed so well with arousal it was heaven. 

"I was hardly implying anything unseemly between you and your sister, John. I merely meant to point out that your tendencies could be practically inborn, true, or they could have easily started while you still lived with Harry at your family's home. The beginning signs of her habit and your protectiveness of her would have required you to help her cover her misbehavior, perhaps you had to find her when she was too drunk to come home herself or help her nurse her hangovers." With this casual exploitation of what must have been a painful past for John, he continued and leaned forward, almost at the very edge of his seat. "It must have made you so ready to come when called, so willing to subjugate yourself to someone else's desires, even if they evidently weren't for you." The analysis was his but the insertion of a subliminal suggestion like 'ready to come' had been a favorite technique of Irene's. "And then at school, you looked for the same sense of purpose in needy little girlfriends, jumping when they wanted you. Always the attentive boyfriend." He chuckled, sipping from his teacup again. "But at St. Bart's, you were made to stand and serve for hours at a surgeon's orders, if he required you to. Go hungry while you finished your rounds attempting to attend to your patients and please your superiors; a model student, I'm sure. Nothing still compared to the military where your dear Major Sholto could have ordered you about at his pleasure and you'd have had no choice but to obey. But then you were discharged, alone, abandoned by your betters and with no one to serve, you drifted helplessly until, of course, you were brought to me. That was all fine, until in my absence you turned to Mary who even when keeping her past a secret could not conceal her desire to control you. And now that both are revealed, she's long since gone and left you, too. You have had many dominants, John, but you've been a sorely mistreated submissive and now, once again, John," he delivered the next line well enunciated and laden with meaning, as he always did at the end of the rambling string of deductions that lead him to the final, all-important solution. "You find yourself in need of a master."

John nearly collapsed at those last words. There was nothing else he could do. Nothing Sherlock said had been wrong. He had literally taken John apart, every aspect of him. John shifted, more obviously this time. He couldn't hide it much longer. The low, domineering voice in front of him had left him a heap of arousal and nervousness. John had completely forgotten about his tea. He dared not respond to Sherlock. He didn't want to tell him he was right. But Sherlock no doubt already knew that he hit the nail right on the head. So what now? What happens now that he's been outed? John met the detective'a gaze only to see him looking back, intently, as always. John was reminded of the spot he picked on the ground and focused his gaze there. 

"And then that sweet little blog you tried so desperately and -futilely- to hide." He chuckled to himself, forming a slight sneer aimed not at John but at his pretensions of keeping the whole thing a secret. "Come now, John." He motioned as if to indicate that it was at last John's turn to speak, "You wished to be done with conversation, have done with it. Speak the truth..." He said slightly more, almost imperceptibly more gently, a cross between a command and permission for John to finally be truthful about himself. "The -whole- truth...," he emphasized. "There's nothing left to hide now, or am I wrong?" He smiled as if the very notion of him being wrong was laughingly absurd.

John huffed. He thought he had been doing very well at hiding his blog.. John leaned forward ever so slightly, unaware of his own movement. "H.. How much of that blog did you read?" John was finally coming to terms with the fact that we had be found out. Now he had to find out how to get out of this before it was too late. He shifted with embarrassment. He felt completely exposed under Sherlock's gaze. He had always tried so hard to keep this hidden.. But Sherlock must have known what he did to John.


	2. Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pt 2! Still way more to come! This is a direct continuation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts to get a little smutty. You've been warned! Thanks again to Bakerstirregular!

"Oh, John...just the parts you'd really rather I'd not.." Sherlock leaned back into his chair, gripping the armrests loosely and crossing his leg over his knee at the ankle.

"Of course. Should have known better than to even ask.." John averted his gaze to anywhere else in the room the detective wasn't. He'd read all of Johns deepest desires. He knew everything. He.. John was at wits end trying to fight this battle. He was loosing badly. "If you read it then there is no need for me to speak the truth. It's all there." John still would not meet Sherlock's eyes.

"How convenient. You've found a way to relieve yourself from speaking your desires out loud. Nevertheless, you will ask for what you want and you will ask it of me -now.-" He steepled his fingers again and chuckled lightly,  "A soldier should know when he's been beaten, John, and you have been." He said, narrowing his eyes, "So thoroughly beaten. So stop your squirming about. Where is the much vaunted bravery of Captain John Watson now?" He taunted 

"Sherlock... Sherlock please don't make me do this.." After all these years of hiding.. John was never good at begging. He felt so powerless. He knew he'd end up submitting. But would he go down without a fight? That he didn't know. Sherlock's voice rippled through him, the heat rushing to his face. If he had have been standing his knees would have surely buckled.

Sherlock sensed the dam of John's denial about to burst entirely from the cracks John had allowed in it and the steady chipping Sherlock had accomplished that evening. He begged, and yet he disobeyed the order he so plainly wanted to follow. So he decided to apply the final touch. Very casually, as if going to his room or the kitchen for more tea, he strode past John's chair, obviously ignoring the man's climaxing discomfort but rather than continuing on the kitchen he turned sharply on his heel and leaned over lowly, until he was behind John but could whisper at John's shoulder-level. "But I am." He righted himself and moved to the mantle, leaning on it and watching John from the mirror. As a stern schoolteacher might have said before asking a student to recite a lesson, he said "Begin."

John was now visibly aroused. His cheeks were flushed and he could feel the heat stirring in his lower abdomen. He took a moment to observe Sherlock, stalking him, his gaze one of complete control and dominance. "Right. Okay. You've got me. I suppose I can be referred as a natural submissive. All my life I've sought to be controlled in one way or another. " John looked at the detective with pleading eyes. "I'm sorry I've hid this from you.. My feelings and such. I've been in denial. I.. I don't know what else to say.." He picked a spot on the carpet and locked his gaze there, hanging his head in defeat.

"John," he smirked, pleased with John's defeated look an the revelation he'd ground out. He felt triumphant, like he did after apprehending a culprit. But there was so, so much more to be wrung out from John and if he'd begged before...Sherlock could hardly contain the satisfied, haughty laugh that he wanted to let out. "I believe I did quite specifically demand the -whole- truth...." He moved slightly for the desk, knowing fully well John would never allow it. "Perhaps we might look at your blog for ideas on what the rest of your confession ought to be..."

John looked to his spot on the floor as Sherlock spoke. Remaining still in defeat until the detective made way for his laptop, with the idea to reference his blog. "N.. No!" Was all he could muster as he tensed in his seat, arm outstretched. "No... That won't be necessary." John knew that he had been defeated. There was nothing left to do now but spit it out. "In the blog... I write my feelings.. Ones that I'd rather no one else see.." He glared at the detective. "My fantasies if you will... Of submitting." John was a mess of nerves. Never had he been forced to divulge his secret. He picked his spot on the floor. He preferred to look there.

"Ah." Sherlock said in mock comprehension, "This is the way you want to do this, then" He made good on his unspoken threat to seize John's computer. He snatched it from the small table by the night table and almost tossed it into his lap. " Really, John." He tilted his slightly, an expression that he should have known better. "You know perfectly well I know what's on your blog. I don't need your 'summarizing points for discussion.' " He said sarcastically, "You know my methods, I've solved the case, I've come to the correct conclusion, and now I'm going to extricate the full confession. I won't repeat it, John, this is your absolute final opportunity to cooperate. You will not like what happens after you've exceeded my limits. Now..." He reached down to open the laptop and then reached for his violin and began plucking out a simple tune on it as he sat in his chair.

The good doctor was dumbfounded. He jumped slightly as Sherlock grabbed the laptop. He shifted at the detective's threat, certainly not an empty one. He would in no way put it past Sherlock to follow through. John hadn't felt this vulnerable, ever. He stammered slightly before forcing words out as to not look like a complete twat. "Sherlock, please." Yes, he was begging. Anything to keep his blog from those all knowing eyes. All the scenarios with John, on his knees. Licking the detective's shoes. The punishments. John's cheeks were now flushed. "Please. Don't do this." He forced himself to meet the detective's stare, trying his best to seem mentally in tact. When in reality all he wanted to do was fall to the ground and admit defeat. It must have been the soldier in him that willed him to keep fighting, even in this losing battle.

Sherlock tilted his head slightly in mock pity, because John really should have known better, "Your fears are irrational. What's there that I don't already know? And even if there were some marginally better kept secret post on your blog or even a file on your computer, don't you think my brother would be happy to have me owe him a favor in return for giving me those files? Your keystrokes? Your browser history? He, of course, being slightly more experienced in these affairs could tell about you from the moment you met, but your choice is to either read them to me yourself or allow my brother to have some intern read him the full report before it's given to me. Unless, you'd like to propose some sort of third option, I put it to you, John. What would you have me do?"

This was it.. John had a choice to make. None of the outcomes were pleasant, at all. John felt his breath hitch as he prepared to admit defeat. "Fine, Sherlock. I'll read it." He stood, and motioned for the detective to hand over his laptop. John still had a choice to make. Would he be truthful? Even if he deleted the blog, no doubt Mycroft would be able to retrieve it. He stood, awaiting Sherlock's response.

"Fetch it yourself." He made himself comfortable in the chair, sipping from the long-forgotten tea, not-so-secretly pleased that John had opted for reading it himself. He'd have likely not involved Mycroft in all of this, though Mycroft had pointed out to him that his choice of companion was appropriate when he'd first asked John to spy on him for money. But John hadn't called his bluff and for the second time that evening, and certainly not the last, he'd given in. 

John stepped over, grabbing his laptop and retreating back to his seat. He opened the laptop and began clicking and typing away. So far he planned to do exactly what he said. There was no sense in trying to be sly. He would only get himself in more trouble.. Wait.. he could hardly be in trouble. No.. this would not end in Sherlock becoming .. He shoved the thought out of his head as he opened his blog and scrolled down to his very first post. The first few posts were comprised mostly of insults and John's opinion of Sherlock when they had first met. They were also filled with awe and admiration and well.. yes.. "Right." John looked up from his laptop. As if trying to postpone the inevitable.

"Do press on, John, we still have much to do tonight." Sherlock left the implication intentionally very vague, to the point of almost being threatening if John chose to understand it that way. He'd no intention of hurting the smaller man, but he did realize that John's reluctance would render the various possibilities that Sherlock had worked out unpleasant to him. But Sherlock had faith that all that would change once he eventually gave in entirely.

John's eyes widened.. Much to do. What was he getting at? John was beginning to regret the very thought of having a secret blog and even worse, trying to keep it from a genius sociopath, domineering, strong.. John cleared his throat. "Right.. Well then.." He began to read from the beginning. The blog was solid proof that John worshiped the ground Sherlock walked on.. John would stammer and blush visibly when he read lines such as "If I could just have him take me, make me kneel and service him. I've always liked collars. I've imagined myself shining his shoes with my tongue.." John was literally squirming now. He looked up from his laptop, eyes pleading. /Begging/. 

The arousal in John was beyond all hiding now, Sherlock chuckled audibly to note. As he read, he couldn't see Sherlock's eyes trailing every inch of his body and watching the uncomfortable little motions John's body would make when coming to a particularly embarrassing passage. When he looked up, he had clearly not reached the end but had paused regardless. "John, you give yourself away so easily. You're practically pleading with me to allow you to stop, but that suggests that there's much better to come still, otherwise you'd just carry on as you have been. Go on." he nodded, prodding him forward with the gesture. 

John frowned as the detective spoke. He was so right. He did not want to read what was next. That would only solidify the detective's assumptions.. John came to terms quietly with the fact that he had been defeated for now.. and continued to read out loud, "His voice.. Oh god his voice.. deep, rich baritone, enough to bring any man to his knees. To kiss his shoes. It's so hard to watch how he composes himself everyday and not beg him to just take me. He is god-like, heavenly, but devious and dangerous at the same time." John sighed, indicating to Sherlock that he had finished reading. Fear set in as the doctor averted his gaze, closing the laptop slowly.

He dropped his voice its lowest natural register and practically purred at him, "And are you ready now, to tell the truth in its entirety?" He arched an eyebrow at John and huffed softly in sarcasm "I should thank you.." he said, as the smile grew from a smug smirk to one of glee at his own ruse. " I had of course, never read your blog, John. But it's been..illuminating. You have no secrets from me, now less than ever. Name the man you've been writing about." He ordered, coolly.

John felt his muscles tense and relax, he was trying not to squirm. The very commanding, baritone, voice that came to him in his dreams, was now a reality. He couldn't help but feel the slightest hint of glee that he had flattered the detective. His glee, however, was swiftly washed away as he remembered his current predicament. Sherlock was expecting an answer.. the hardest answer to the easiest question. No secrets anymore.. None. John felt so completely exposed. And oddly aroused. He picked his favorite spot on the ground and answered the question. "S..Sherlock." His breath hitched. Defeat never tasted so odd before... 

"Good." He said softly. He'd never been one much for praise, but the titanic effort John was putting forward deserved it's recompense, even if it was Sherlock putting him through the ordeal. "You see, John, now you'll be able to speak freely in front of me. A moment's worth of discomfort to avoid ever having to squirrel your computer away around me or hope I haven't somehow guessed your secret thoughts. Only the inevitable truth remains, as it always does when the correct conclusions are followed along the right path of reasoning. Ask what you've wanted to ask all these years, you finally can."

John kept his eyes locked on to, what he had now names, his favorite spot on the floor. How was he to word this? Was he sure he wanted to ask this? Of course he wanted to, he'd wanted to for so long. John began to imagine the outcome, his cheeks beginning to flush once more. Trying to word his desires, his words came out very meek, almost scared. "Sherlock," He gritted his teeth.. The soldier in him was reloading his magazine, ready for warfare. But John knew that would only end worse for him. John was aware that he was still sitting on the couch, but he would not move unless asked. "I need a Master." His heart was literally going to spring out of his chest. Never in his life had he pictured himself saying this. He had made it his mission to hide this until the day he died. "W..Would you have me?".. John had put more effort in to forming these sentences than he had previous surgeries. He locked on to his spot awaiting a response.  

"Oh?" Sherlock continued to toy with him. He sighed, drummed his fingers on the armrest briefly and pretended to perfunctorily check under his nails. "As submissives go, you're an especially capable one and entirely devoted. I'm sure you'd be well sought after, John. In fact, you have been well sought after, you know..." He allowed the statement to dangle, inviting the question

John took his eyes off of his spot, focusing on the detective. "Oh?" His face was a one of confusion, wonder. Well sought after? He kept his eyes on Sherlock, hoping that he would give a straight answer, although that was very unlikely

"Of course. Irene's proclivities don't run towards men, naturally, but evidently she does branch out from time to time. She expressed interest in your tendencies. Mycroft may not be interested on a personal level, but even you must have noticed he worked out the possibilities of how your wishes might be put to use professionally. Even Moriarty himself sat where I'm sitting now and mused about how he should invest in finding someone such as yourself." 

If John had thought that he was panicking before, he didn't know how to describe what this was. His hands were clammy, he was no doubt pale at the thought. He had tried to compose himself when he heard the mention of Moriarty. Still unable to help the slight shudder. He placed his palms down on his legs, nodding in apprehension. He was not surprised about Irene. He had actually been scared that she would out him to Sherlock. No doubt she had given him subtle hints. John couldn't imagine having anyone else dominate him completely. Even Sherlock. Was this really happening? John failed to say anything, but his expressions were written all over his face. 

"But Irene could see that you're not really in need of anyone to dominate you, you'd clearly already set your sights on someone in particular." He smiled. "She was very helpful, actually, in helping me to decide to..broach the issue with you." He grew more serious, as if weighing John on some internal balance, "Would you go, John? If I called her here and told her what you'd said tonight. Or if I allowed Mycroft to put you to use for Queen and country again?"

John sat up ramrod straight on the couch, as if a sudden sound had peeked his interest. Would he go? Usually it wasn't a choice for him to make. He was either dragged to one place or another in an attempt to help Sherlock in any way he could. And so it would remain. He chose his words carefully, speaking in the same quiet register. "Only if you wanted me to." He stared at his spot again, it seemed to calm him.

"Should I take it then, that you won't respond to orders unless I give them myself?" Sherlock pressed.

 John could no longer deny the growing arousal that stirred as Sherlock spoke. "Right." He nodded affirmatively. John was shifting in his seat, subtly, but no doubt the detective would pick it up. 

"Then come." He commanded simply and indicated to a vague spot before the armchair where he intended John to come to if he meant to obey.

John's heart again, nearly jumped from his chest as Sherlock spoke. It was a tone of voice different than any John had heard him use. It came so naturally to him. The doctor took a moment to admire the detective before rising from his seat and walking to the designated spot. John kept his gaze averted, picking a new spot, trained to the floor. 

"Merely saying you're a submissive, while courageous, is not going to be enough evidence for either of us, is it, John?"  His voice took on an almost seductive tone, "You're to prove yourself, much like you had to prove yourself to your professors and your superiors in the military. Test your limits, if you will." He raised a hand to John's chin to lift his gaze to him, "Prove yourself, John."

John nodded as the detective continued his explanation. He smiled as Sherlock admitted his respect. He understood and shook his head when appropriate. He was right, John would have to prove himself. He had not thought this far ahead.. Testing his limits? John felt his nerves jump at the many ideas. As Sherlock's hand made gentle lifting motion to John's face, the doctor smiled. It felt nice, there was no denying that. The doctor took the next step any natural submissive would, and sank slowly to his knees in font of Sherlock, their eyes still locked. 

Sherlock then felt it was appropriate to inhabit the role of the dominant much more fully now. He found it delicious when he pushed against John's limits and found John steadfastly pushing back, each refining the other and each urging them to become better by besting the other the struggle. He snapped and stood up abruptly in the small space between where John knelt and the armchair, "You forget yourself so easily and fall back into the precious little facade you put up with all your might. The facade wherein we're equals, but let me be the first to remind you, John, that only one of us feels the need to kneel on the floor before the other."

John flinched reflexively as Sherlock stood before him. The fact that the detective was now standing, served more to demonstrate to John where they both stood. John let out a stubborn huff of breath as Sherlock spoke. He spoke the truth, that was certain, John just didn't want to admit it to himself. He was now aroused beyond belief, but his emotion was mixed with fear and pride. The doctor remained on his knees, but stiffened up at his words. He now avoided Sherlock's eyes, looking back to his spot on the floor.

"Even when you mean to defy me or..more stupidly...-ignore- me, you wind up reverting to submission. Your eyes cast firmly on the floor, where they -should- be. Don't you have anything at all to say for yourself, or shall I say it all again more slowly?

John took a deep breath, he was right. But the good doctor's pride still stirred within him, and with no preemptive thought, John flickered his gaze to meet the detective's, before settling them back on the floor. John could think of nothing he was willing to say at this moment that was beneficial so he settled for the typical "I'm sorry." He decided to elaborate.. "I'm sorry for keeping this from you." 

"And there they are, the little shows of defiance. The feeble attempts at proving to yourself that you're not as far gone as you thought. But you are, John, you are. If you want to look up, then look up and don't dare look at anything else, especially not that little spot on the floor you find -so- comforting.." He positioned a hand under John's chin and brought his gaze to meet his again, but more roughly than he had last time. "Since you -obviously- enjoyed answering probing questions about your life... One word answers. Come on. Did you allow your professors to sleep with you at school? Should we all be just a little suspect of that title before your name?" 

As John was forced to look up at the detective, he chose to obey and kept his eyes focused. Sherlock had found out about his spot.. Damn.. John felt a pang of insult as Sherlock accused him sleeping with his professors, and his answer portrayed his anger very clearly. "No, Sherlock." He spoke through his teeth as he kept the commanded gaze. 

"And in Afghanistan? Did you sleep with anyone then?" He leaned down to stare into John's eyes more closely. "Think -very- carefully about what you're going to say, -Captain-" He switched to the military title to reflect the switch in topics. "Because if you are going to have me believe that you weren't aching to fall on your hands and knees for your much beloved Sholto, you're going to explain why ever not, because anyone could see the traces of naked want on you when you skipped around him like a puppy that hasn't seen his master in ages at your -own- wedding." He righted himself but stared down his nose at John, still. "Or, perhaps, you wanted him desperately and he did not return the feeling. That, too, might explain your pitiful little attachment. 'He's coming, Mary, I know he'll come' " He tauntingly parroted how sure John had been about his coming to the event.  

John furrowed his brow at the accusation. His breath hitching once more as Sherlock came closer, and felt the absence of proximity as he resumed his upright position. John shifted, he let his gaze fall to his spot on the floor as he did not want to see the detective's expression to his response. "No. You're wrong, for once." John patted the soldier within him, finding the ounce of pride that still lingered within. It felt easier to defy Sherlock as he finished his mockery. John had fantasized briefly about Sholto, but nothing that was worth discussing, at least he thought not. He locked his gaze to his spot on the floor. He remembered in this moment that he had been told to keep his eyes where they were, but he was not about to correct himself. He sighed, clearly insulted at what Sherlock had said, even though it was in fact the truth. 

"And it gives you a little thrill, to challenge me? Hm? To tell me I'm 'wrong?' " He sighed and carefully stepped away and around John so he could more freely pace behind him. "I did say there was a chance you didn't but it would likely require some explanation since you seemed to me, and Mary and every keen-eyed person there that you were quite the ready and willing subordinate. You wanted him to do it, that much is clear." He put the ball of his foot through his expensive shoes on the small of John's back and pushed forward, not to hurt him, but to guide him so that he had to lean forward on Sherlock's armchair if he meant to stay on his knees, and not on all fours. "Why didn't you, John? Feel free to elaborate." 

The doctor became nervous when he could no longer see Sherlock. The detective was now pacing behind him.. This was not good. Maybe telling Sherlock he was wrong, was not the smartest choice on John's part. As John felt the pressure on the small of his back, he moved gently on to his hands and knees. Fighting Sherlock physically was a losing battle. "There were more important things on my mind, Sherlock." John said, through gritted teeth. 

"And yet, when I first started catching you watching me when you thought I wasn't looking, we were at crime scenes and in hot pursuit of criminals who could have easily killed us. What caused the difference? Think of it, John, why are you not holed up at your Major's flat instead of here?" He removed his foot once John had acquiesced and accepted the prodding forward. 

John was now on his hands and knees. It felt nice to be able to distribute some of his weight to his arms. John remembered the various crime scenes that he and Sherlock had been on together, the feeling of blood pumping through his veins. He was a sucker for danger, which is what ended him up in this very spot. "Because I don't want Major Sholto." John knew that Sherlock was well aware of the answer already and was merely waiting for John to gather the courage to say it himself. "I want you." There. He said it. Wasn't so bad. It felt nice to get that off his chest. 

"Well spoken, John." Sherlock dropped the teasing sarcasm he'd been using to get under his skin and merely spoke sternly but not openly taunting John anymore. "And brave of you to admit the truth, once again." He stepped around so that he stood in front of John, "But you resisted me again before finally giving in and openly defied me for the purposes of showing that you could defy me. What to do in the situations, John? What would your superior officers have done with you if you'd willfully defied an order and purposefully tried to assert yourself through disobedience?"

John took hold of the slight praise he had received and smiled. The doctor looked up at Sherlock as he spoke. John remembered that he had in fact been purposefully obtuse and defying. John's pride literally vanished as Sherlock spoke punishing him inadvertently. He thought of many ways he would have been disciplined in the military. When it came to John, he usually ended up shining boots and floors. Of course then there were the times where he messed up during drill, in which he would be ordered to do push ups. Glancing up at the detective John spoke, "They would have me shine boots, the floor, and sometimes they would have me do push ups." John spoke as if he were remembering these experiences as he spoke of them. The idea didn't seem to bother him very much, he had always taken these punishments without fight. 

"Good soldier, to honestly suggest how you should be disciplined." He shifted his stance slightly to place one foot forward, moving the brunt of his weight onto his back foot. He place the black leather shoe-clad foot in front of John and awaited. "It seems you've already 'hit the floor,' so it seems we'll have to use an alternative means of punishment.."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	3. Breaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here you are! More Rpz! And Smut! Dark!Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark!Sherlock! Burning, and punishment! You have been warned!

Remaining on all fours, John gazed up quizzically at the detective. He had an idea of what was expected of him, but was slightly unsure. He looked down at the shoe that had been presented to him, then back up at Sherlock. His expression wore a mixture or confusion, and pleading as he came to his own conclusions.

"You don't need any more prompting for me." His voice began to take one that note of exasperation he'd used before.  "I promised you I'd stretch your limits, I expect of you at least the obedience you'd have shown your betters anywhere else you've been. Would you have ever hesitated at an order at the hospital or in Kabul?" 

There he was, on his hands and knees before the detective he had dreamed about. He lowered his head as he was being chastised. He felt bad for not coming to the conclusion of what was expected sooner. He looked up, giving Sherlock one last pleading look. He shook his head in response to the question. John lowered his head, bringing it close to the detective's shoe. Never, had John Watson felt so helpless and submissive. He was quite aroused, his pride nearly evaporated, but still there. The doctor stuck out his tongue and made contact with shoe before him, pulling back at the taste. Very leathery, not quite bad, but not good either..

"Go on." He growled and moved the foot John was licking sharply. He'd have never kicked the doctor, he just meant to startle him into compliance with the sudden motion. "This year, if you please, John. -Thoroughly-."

John jumped slightly at the sudden movement. He knew Sherlock wouldn't kick him, but he also knew that an impatient Sherlock was not a happy Sherlock. John lowered his head and began licking long strides up the length of the black shoe. He seemed eager to please. God only knew how long he'd be here. Sherlock was right.. He was quite defiant. John tried his best to get every part that was exposed. The taste was not one John enjoyed, and he certainly considered this a punishment, but yet he was still becoming more and more aroused. 

"Now, let's review, John. Why are you being punished?" He said patronizingly, like speaking to a small child

John continued to lick between sentences. It did not take him long to come up with why he was being punished. This certainly wasn't something he wanted to do every day, although part of him enjoyed it immensely. "I am being punished for openly defying and resisting you, for the sole purpose of proving I could." John continued his task, hoping that his answer was satisfactory. 

"And did you ever imagine yourself doing this?" He would shift his foot to expose different angles to John's tongue, and finally planted his heel into the floor and exposed the sole."Not merely fantasized about it furtively in your bedroom while you thought I couldn't hear you moan or that I'd chalk up your moan to some nightmare. I mean, really imagined that you'd be doing it."

John shook his head no and the question posed to him. As the detective exposed the sole of his shoe, the doctor crawled back a few centimeters. Looking up, as if asking if this was really necessary... as if to say 'alright I get the point..'..

Sherlock arched an eyebrow slowly at him, as if to ask 'really? you're -still- going to fight me on this?' 

John sighed, eyeing the sole of the detective's shoe. He leaned in, tracing his tongue lightly over it. John had never felt as small, vulnerable, helpless as he did at this very moment. He kept feathering the sole lightly with his tongue, making as little contact as possible. When he figured he was finished.. He looked up at Sherlock, still on all fours.

He reached down to pet John’s head lightly, a gentle caress out of genuine affection, not out of condescension. “Sit up,” he said, “we have much to talk about.” He put the sole of his foot down and pulled one of the chairs from the nearby desk so he could sit. He’d left his command intentionally vague but, of course, he expected John to ‘sit up’ on his heels, not take a seat. It was Sherlock’s way to control the situation so that either outcome was favorable, either John took his meaning and they could proceed or he would misunderstand and disobey again, giving cause for extra punishment. 

John could not help but feel a sense of accomplishment as Sherlock's hand met his head gently. He had never been pet before.. It wasn't nearly as demeaning as he figured. It felt nice.. When told to sit up, John took his hands off the ground and brushed them together, noticing that Sherlock had pulled up an extra seat. An abundance of possibilities ran through the doctor's head at that gesture. But, figuring Sherlock wanted to speak of terms and whatnot. John rose.. Taking the seat that had been pulled over. "What are we discussing?" There was apprehension in his voice.

Sherlock lowered his head and smiled to himself. He nodded, accepting the choice John had made. "It is my fault entirely. I knew you were pigheaded when I chose you." He had been perfectly still but for the nod previously but upon John sitting down, he steeled the muscles in his leg and with one fluid motion, swept the chair out from underneath John, meant to send him sprawling out of it. "How -long- until you learn, John? How long?" He said with mock frustration, though in truth he enjoyed the opportunity to push back against John's resistance further. "You said earlier you wouldn't want to be sent to anyone, but I see it might become necessary. Perhaps Irene should have you, her sort of punishment does -not- involve the quaint little fantasies you've written on your blog. All those whips and chains are likely a much quicker incentive to behave."

John listened to the detective intently, when suddenly his seat vanished from underneath him and he was on the floor, once more. Damnit! He should have stayed there in the first place! This was no doubt a test, and he had failed. John's eyes widened in fear at the whips and chains. Those terrified him. He was such a mix of emotions that the fear was worn plainly on his expression. "No.. No Sherlock please! I'm sorry! I shouldn't have sat in the chair!" He hated begging, well.. Part of him did.

"Do tell, John!" Sherlock said without concealing the naked interest in John's expression, "Does the idea frighten you?" He advanced on him slowly, hands clasped behind his back. "Sending you away to Irene..." he mused, thinking out loud while circling John. "Is it the thought of being sent away? Or, is it the promise of pain? Or, perhaps the idea of being helpless to move..?"

John cringed at the idea.. Pain.. Motionless.. He would go insane. He looked up as Sherlock advanced on him, questioning him. "I..pain.. And being t..tied up? Yes Sherlock that would scare anyone!" He said in an obvious tone. His cheeks were flushed a bright red now no doubt.

"Would it?" He said, bemusedly. "Oh, John...one of my favorite things about you." And he bent down low to say in his most guttural tones, intimidatingly close to John, "Always so -painfully- obvious." He picked John up by curling a hand under his arm and lifting him to his feet. Once, he'd stood him up, he stood for a long time and stared at him, with a half sneer and half a look of amusement with him. "You're a man who prides himself on his bravery, aren't you? What else -scares- you?" he emphasized 'scare' with disdain and reached a hand to carefully undo the very first of the buttons of John's shirt. 

John scrambled his feet as he was lifted to a standing position, remaining still once he composed himself. Of course John was proud of his bravery, but the way Sherlock spoke to him was.. Well.. John could feel himself becoming frightened and aroused at the same time. There were a lot of ideas that scared John. Not being able to move, being placed in painful situations, being humiliated. He had breathed a sigh of relief when Sherlock said there would be no humiliation. "I.. I guess not being in control scares me.." He seemed almost ashamed to admit that. As he felt the detective begin to undo his shirt, John shuddered, but remained still. He could do this. No matter what.

"Wrong." Sherlock said simply, as he continued to unbutton his shirt. He was not doing it close to John as a lover might or quickly as a valet might undress someone. It was almost clinical, like someone performing a dissection, a precise step by step uncovering of the layers that covered what was really of interest. He was beginning to peel back the layers of one John Watson, both mentally and literally.

"Wrong?" Was all John could muster as his top was being removed. Sherlock was undressing him.. He became quite aroused at the thought, even though Sherlock's eyes were very firm and calculating. John opted to remain still. He hadn't liked licking shoes today.. Well his pride hadn't, and if he could avoid it and anything else that would be lovely. His pride was hanging on by a thin thin string. The doctor looked at the detective curiously.

"Wrong." Sherlock repeated furrowing his brow and shrugging his shoulders slightly, as if he'd said 'Of course.' He moved his hand to the edge of John's cardigan and began pulling it off his shoulder until it flopped back at his elbows and did the same with the other side. When he was done, he drew back as though he were a sculptor, observing a sculpture he was working on to see where finishing touches could be applied. "And just because you so clearly thought it was going to be what we were going to talk about...." He tilted his head, observing the undone shirt before raising his gaze slowly to meet John's, "what sorts of terms for this arrangement would you be interested in discussing?"

"I.. Uhm.. Right. Well I suppose I would ask if.. This.." He motioned between the two of them.."Would remain private.. Or..." John was obviously still uncomfortable discussing this topic out loud. He usually had his blog for that...his blog where things went his way, always. He shifted slightly on to his "bad" leg.

"Or..?" Sherlock rumbled deeply as he paced around to remove the cardigan from around his elbows

John began to get impatient .. He knew Sherlock was toying with him. "Or if the whole bloody world is going to know!" John retracted physically, realizing what he said had sounded a bit harsh.

"Hm." Sherlock said, laughing slightly at his discomfort, and pulling at the fabric until it slipped off of John's arms entirely. "What else?"

"Well I'd like to know what you plan on doing with me.." John figured he'd throw that one out there... Even though he knew that the possibility of a straight answer was slim. John let the fabric slip off, his mind reeling.

"You know much, much better than to ask -that-." He threw the garment onto the ground and then began to do the same with the shirt,threatening to leave John in only the thin white undershirt he wore under button-ups. "Next."

John was now finding it hard to focus as his clothes were being peeled off layer by layer. He began to panic as each layer was removed. He sighed, knowing that was a waste of a question, was worth a shot though. He really didn't have much to ask that would be answered. He had briefly wondered if Sherlock would make him use a title. But that hadn't been brought up, and John didn't want to be the one to do so. He remained silent.

He reached forward and pulled John back into himself until his was back was directly against Sherlock's chest and Sherlock was breathing down his neck. With his head slightly tilted to the side, he was looking over John's shoulder as he hooked both arms underneath his arms and began undoing his belt. "Those are your limits, John? The preservation of your reputation as a man to be reckoned with and the feeling of being in control?"

"I.. I suppose so, yes." Wow John didn't sound sure of himself at all. But how was he supposed to think with Sherlock breathing down his neck and undressing him? John looked down in awe as Sherlock undid his belt, his arousal was so obvious. John was oddly calmed by the sudden surge of body heat as he leaned on the detective.

He threw the belt to the side after un-looping it from around John's waist and then withdrew his arms. "Stand at attention, soldier. You'll await my return." He whispered in his ear as he retreated to search for something among the stacks of papers and books piled on the desk. Something he'd placed there earlier just in case, just normal enough to not raise an eyebrow from John in case he saw it before they'd had their confrontation, but terribly useful in this occasion. 

John shuddered as the detective whispered. His voice was enough to startle the doctor to attention immediately. John tried very hard not to shift his eyes, observe his surroundings. What was happening?? Fear, arousal, and panic were among the many feelings he went through in a very brief span of time. He wanted to turn his head but decided against it. Probably for the best. He felt exposed, even though he was still half dressed.

"Good little soldier," Sherlock said softly with a note of sarcasm, stretching long fingers and running them along his neck lightly, at the places where his pulse was most evident.  Giving John the distraction of the sensation along his neck, he seized the opportunity to click a handcuff around John's left wrist and looped it around his right wrist and snapped it shut. 

John couldn't help but shudder as Sherlock ran his fingers around his neck, such a sensitive spot. His eyes widened however when he soon realized he was being distracted. Just as the cuff clicked on his right wrist, John instinctively checked the bonds. Nope, secure. He looked up at Sherlock, his eyes pleading.  
"Sherlock..." Was all he was able to muster.

He picked up John's belt and looped it further around his forearms, tying them together, providing a second stricture for his arms. "Frightened yet?" He chuckled as pushed John forward and onto his knees with a firm hand on his shoulder. "What control do you have now, John? You couldn't overtake me with your hands free, let alone now. You've checked the integrity of the handcuffs by now, I'm sure. Tell me, is there any way out aside from breaking your own wrist?" 

John struggled slightly as his own belt was tightened around his forearms, forcing him to straighten up his posture. Yes, he was frightened. He had never thought Sherlock would.. Well he had never though ANY of this would happen. He heard the dark chuckle and the force pushing him down onto his already buckling knees. "No..no way out." John picked another spot on the floor. John was completely at the detective's mercy, and he was scared, and very much so aroused. His pride must have been hiding in a corner.

He knelt to John's level and tipped his chin upwards. "And now you're at my mercy..." He ran his eyes over the entirety of John's hunched over body. "But I know you John, sometimes better than you know yourself. And I know that you live every dull moment at your practice and at your little tea kettle wishing that it could be like this moment. Feeling the adrenaline and the beating of your heart against your chest. You can hardly conceal the physical evidence of how much you enjoy this." He said pointedly staring at the bulge in John's trousers. "Poor John..." he said sarcastically. "This is what you needed, your limits pressed against and pushed down. Don't you see? That bullet in your shoulder taught you not to fear anything in comparison, and this....this refines you like fire purifies gold." He said pushing backwards and down gently, until he lay on the floor and as if to punctuate his remarks, he reached forward and unhooked the button of his trousers.  

John closed his eyes as the detective spoke, absorbing every word. He was right, he was always right. He blushed at the mention of his arousal. John took a deep breath. Surrendering would be hard, he would no doubt make mistakes. But he trusted Sherlock. As John was re positioned, his calm shifted in to slight worry. His breath hitched.

"Nothing to say for yourself, Doctor? You're normally so keen on telling me when I'm doing something -not good.-" He unzipped the front of his trousers with one hand. "Is that to say that you do find this alarmingly...good?" He smirked.

"Sherlock... I.." John arched his back, trying to close the gap between his aching erection and Sherlock's hand. He nodded at the question, maybe more frantically than needed. John was beginning to get greedy. He needed release.

"Ah." He said, withdrawing the hand. "Irene referred to this as 'topping from the bottom.' You, pretend that you're submissive and I -pretend- that I'm the dominant, but really you decide when and where you'll be released as well as the conditions in which you'll play submissive." He reached into his breast pocket for the packet of cigarettes and lit one, withdrawing all physical contact from John, "Let me assure you, that will -not- be the case."

John couldn't help but frown at the sudden loss of 'almost contact'. Irene HAD informed Sherlock.. Of much more than he let on.. John furrowed his brow as Sherlock lit a cigarette. "Hey! Sherlock! No smoking!" John realized that he probably looked really stupid barking orders in his current position, but damned if he was going to let this happen without saying something.

Sherlock had been enjoying the drag on his cigarette, but at that his head snapped at John and for a moment it looked like he might become furious. He quickly composed himself, however, and he said. "What would you have me do, John? Should I put it out?"

John caught the expression on Sherlock's face as he composed himself. If he was smoking to prove a point, it wasn't working. He knew John couldn't STAND him smoking, not to mention what it could do to his body. "Well yes. That would be nice. We don't smoke in the flat." Johns pride must have come back for him to be speaking this way, given his current situation.

He took another long drag and moved closer to John. Without warning, he lifted a leg and positioned himself so that he was straddling John's waist. He leaned his head back and exhaled the smoke from his drag and then looked down at John. "So..bound and on your way to being half-naked on the floor, you still feel in a position to give me orders, do you?" He placed the cigarette in his mouth and very suddenly grasped the collar of John's cheap undershirt with both hands and used all his strength to tear the fabric down the middle.

John tried so hard to struggle as Sherlock straddled him. It was futile of course. He shook his head frantically at the question posed to him, and gasped as his undershirt was torn. "No.. No.. I'm sorry. " John was now squirming, shaking his head.

"Sorry." He huffed. "You've been sorry -several- times tonight, John, and you still insist on defying me and even going so far as to order -me- to do something." He took the cigarette out of his mouth with one hand and placed it dangerously close to the hand that he kept on John's stomach. "The only conclusion I can draw, John, is that you really are starving for Irene's brand of punishment." He slowly moved the hand containing the cigarette, further up John's chest so that he could see it and moved his fingers just slightly so that the cigarette dipped without making contact with John's skin but coming perilously close.

"No! No Sherlock please!" John had become very still as to not get burnt. "I'm sorry! I shouldn't have ordered you to stop smoking! I..I.. Jesus Sherlock please!!" John was panicking now. "I'll do anything Sherlock just please, don't do that!" His chest was rising with every panicked breath he took.

Sherlock continued moving the hand with the cigarette, past John's nipple until it hovered tipping backwards and forwards directly over his clavicle, ashing onto him occasionally. "Anything?" He arched an eyebrow, continuing to balance the cigarette.

"Anything, just please don't ..." John stared at the cigarette with wide eyes. "I mean it, anything." John's only focus at that very moment was to not get burned.

"I'm open to suggestions," he purred. As if the idea struck him, he peeled back the tatters of the shirt that covered the scar on John's shoulder. He fixed his gaze on the scar and took a drag from the cigarette again but this time replaced it directly over the scar. 

John had fear written all over him. He attempted to see the cigarette, but didn't want to move too much and get burned. He let out what sounded like a whimper as Sherlock hovered the cigarette over his scar. "I.. I'll be good! I'll obey! I'll prove myself! Please Sherlock! Please have mercy!" John was nearly sobbing

"Oh, John, you're a man who charged into danger and faced war and terror just to feel the adrenaline. You've been at death's door before. Surely you can be pushed further than this, can't you?" He chuckled, "What, specifically, might you be willing to do to avoid the burn of one tiny cigarette?"

John pondered the question.. What would he do? What could he do for Sherlock that would make him not do this. Well.. There were sexual favors.. John wasn't sure how well that would fare.. But it was worth a shot. "I...I'll service you sexually." Would it work? Hmm?

"Of course you will, John, but that's hardly a concession, is it? Not after everything you've written." He delicately placed it on his skin, with the burning tip hovering in the air just past his shoulder. "It was your idea in the first place to put it out, John. You did manage to talk your way into it, now let's see you talk your way out, hm?" He picked it up again before the tip could burn down to where it might have touched John's skin and took another drag to keep it lit. 

John was very nervous, as he had no idea how this was going to play out, Sherlock was as unpredictable as ever. John had no idea what he was supposed to say... Maybe if he begged? He drew in a deep breath as Sherlock took another drag. "I'll submit. I'll do everything I'm told. I'll accept my punishments without a fight. Please Sherlock. I'm begging you." His voice was breaking, he was truly scared.

Sherlock huffed a little, taking another drag and then leaning forward to run a hand through John's hair and to stroke his forehead lightly. The tension had caused small beads of sweat to form and he wiped them away gently. It was then that he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to John's forehead.

John could feel himself relax slightly as Sherlock ran his hand through his hair. John used this time to release all the air he had been holding in his lungs, trying to remain still. John felt a swirl of emotion as Sherlock kissed his forehead. It was as if, for those few split seconds, John didn't have a worry in the world.

He petted John's hair and did not removed his lips before he turned the cigarette in slightly and did not press it into his flesh but allowed it to touch his shoulder, sizzling the flesh underneath.

John jumped at the pain and shock of what was happening. He began taking deep breaths, the detective's lips still on his. It hadn't hurt as much as it could have, but John still looked to Sherlock, pain, wonder, slight betrayal, but arousal in his eyes.

He pushed it in deeper and then withdrew it quickly, not taking his lips away. And this time, picking a slightly removed spot he stood it on it's end and touched it to him in earnest, allowing it to remain on his shoulder for a few moments before withdrawing it again.

John writhed in pain as the cigarette burnt him again, and again. Moaning in to the detective's mouth, grunting at the pain. John began to squirm, his breath quickening. So this is what a real punishment felt like. John would have to try and avoid these...

He climbed off and deposited the cigarette in the long forgotten tea cup. He then sat in the chair and looked idly at the mantel, saying only "Come."

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry to cut off at such an odd point. More to come I assure you!


End file.
